


Growing Pains

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson
Genre: Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Father-Son Relationship, First Crush, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Medical Procedures, Minor Armitage Hux/Cardinal, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Crush, Young Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: Sometimes a mind had to break before it would bend.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Brendol Hux, Cardinal & Armitage Hux
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moreless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreless/gifts).



Brendol's blood boiled. Admiral Brooks had gone too far this time. Who did he think he was, that he had the right to discipline another man's son, right in front of him? _Perhaps_ he could have let it slide, if Brooks had been Armitage's commanding officer. Even so, every time the boy's mother was mentioned, even in passing, and every time the boy was made to simper and snivel and scrape before another was a slight upon _his_ position and his person. It would not be tolerated. Besides, it was sloppy. The design behind his own methods might not be obvious to an idiot like _Brooks,_ but Brendol had spent a good portion of his career at Arkanis Academy, shaping children's bodies and minds to be smart, swift and sharp, like blades in the night.

And, well, sometimes a mind had to break before it would bend.

The problem was that for all his disparaging of Armitage's weaknesses, the boy was proving unusually resistant to many of Brendol's character building exercises. He would need to get a little more creative to solve this puzzle. It had been different with the Commandant's Cadets, when he'd had the opportunity to select potential officers-in-training specifically for their strong performance, and even with Archex - now designated CD-0922, he recalled, with a smile - and the other orphans from Jakku. They'd lacked anything remotely resembling the prestigious academy training of the cadets he'd been accustomed to dealing with, but at least they were scrappers and survivors. He hadn't been tasked with creating something from _nothing,_ until he'd been ordered to teach Armitage everything he knew.

However, Brooks' ridiculous stunt had been useful, if infuriating. He'd seen how little Armitage had hesitated before being willing to cast aside what little pride he had, even as his freckled cheeks had burned with shame. But his eyes, green like the Arkanis seas, like his mother's, they'd burned with something else. Something that, with any luck, Brendol could _use._ And in his brief hesitation, he'd looked to his father for guidance, hadn't he? He wasn't entirely useless. He could, and _would,_ learn. Brendol would make sure of that, and he'd deal with anyone like Brooks along the way - subtly, of course.

When relieved of his duties, Brendol suggested that CD-0922 accompanied him on the walk to his suite. The young stormtrooper gave a crisp salute, standing proud in his polished white armor as he greeted his general. He'd liked Archex when he'd first met him on Jakku, with his mischievous grin, and eye for detail - when he'd found the boy he was whittling toy skittermice to sell at the outpost. That showed resourcefulness. Maybe Armitage could learn something of value from CD-0922, if Brendol kept him close. Not that he'd be looking to the trooper as an _example,_ of course (with no disrespect to CD-0922, as fine an example as he was). Rather, he'd noticed Armitage's gaze linger on the older teen on the rare occasions he removed his helmet, not nearly as subtle as he'd thought.

"I heard you scored well in the new combat simulation," Brendol said, noting how the trooper stood a little straighter as he marched, his chest swelling with pride like a little bird's.

"Yes, sir," he said, almost shyly. Humble, Brendol supposed. The speakers in the troopers' helmets were designed to flatten their accents and emotions but, if one knew what to look for, it was possible to discern feelings that remained hidden to most.

"Impressive." The complexity of the newest simulation far surpassed the ones they'd been using for the last few years, as their technicians had found new ways to implement more realistic differences in terrain. They'd also recently introduced civilians and other non-combatants to the sims, with varying levels of success depending on who was asked.

"Thank you, sir."

"I'd thought perhaps you'd run through it with Armitage," he said, in a tone that resembled something like concern, letting his shoulders slump. "He's been struggling a little, you see, and that might be just the thing he needs. I fear some of the academy instructors may be neglecting a more _practical_ approach with all their theoretical war games." CD-0922 faltered for a moment, though many would not have perceived such a minor misstep, and whatever fleeting emotions that may or may not have shown in his expression were safely hidden behind the sleek, black visor of his helmet.

"I'd be honored to, General."

* * *

For an awful moment, CD-0922 had worried that he'd displeased General Hux somehow - but he seemed genuinely grateful when he'd accepted the assignment. He didn't mind working with the younger troopers, but training with Armitage wasn't an experience he, or _anyone,_ particularly relished. The general's son was notoriously surly and sour-faced. Had it not been for some measure of physical resemblance between the two, CD-0922 would have found it difficult to believe Armitage was related to the general, always so generous with his praise and his smiles when they'd been earned. But, he reminded himself, General Hux must have _trusted_ him with this responsibility, and had singled him out for his good performance. Even if he didn't quite _feel_ honored, it was an honor nonetheless.

When he reached the simulation room at the appointed time, he found Armitage already there, his back pressed against the wall as if to take up as little space as possible. His grey uniform was slightly too large for him, in spite of his awkward, gangly limbs, with his shirt hanging loose as a poncho. Armitage looked about as thrilled as he felt to be there, though at least CD-0922 wasn't the one suffering from the delusion that he was too good for this. It didn't exactly help that he'd spotted Armitage glaring at him from across the mess hall more than once.

"CD-0922," he said stiffly, not moving an inch. They might have been older, but in some ways nothing had changed since their first meeting on Jakku. Armitage was still soft and spoiled, and CD-0922 still disliked him. But, then and now, Armitage was untouchable. As far as he and his squad were concerned, Armitage's orders could only be countermanded by General Hux.

CD-0922 simply nodded in acknowledgement after a brief salute, glad that his helmet hid his expression and eager to get this over and done with before dinner - though despite his lack of enthusiasm, he resolved to approach this assignment with as much attention and dedication as any other.

"The combat holo droids are in place," Armitage said, indicating towards them with his blaster. "Should we begin?" Evidently, he also wished to get through this as quickly as possible, but CD-0922 knew that rushing through the simulation was a surefire way to fail. _Especially_ when Armitage hadn't even been briefed on the mission for the exercise. No wonder General Hux was so concerned.

"Maybe we should go over the mission brief first," he said carefully, keen to frame it as a suggestion as opposed to anything that might be viewed as insubordination.

"Yes," Armitage agreed quickly, cheeks flushed, no doubt embarrassed at realising his amateurish mistake. It wasn't long, however, before CD-0922 noticed another problem, almost instinctively moving to correct Armitage's hold on his blaster.

"I don't need you to hold my hand," Armitage snapped, flinching at the touch, "I _do_ know how to hold a blaster. It's just…"

"Two of your fingers are broken," CD-0922 stated. Yes, that was certainly going to be a problem, particularly as one of them was his trigger finger. Armitage looked uncomfortable, but he hadn't snatched his hand back, so CD-0922 removed his helmet to take a closer look. He could tell from his own past experiences that the swelling was still too severe to reset the bones, so they'd need to treat that first. "I can tape them together for now, but you'll need to go to medical for painkillers and other-" Armitage shook his head, obviously close to tears as CD-0922 attempted to straighten out his broken fingers and wrap them with the tape from the portable first aid kit he kept on his utility belt. Three times, in two places, like he'd learned.

"I have to complete the assignment first." CD-0922 sighed. He'd seen some of the other troopers neglect their injuries and pump themselves full of stims to keep going. It worked, to an extent, and he'd admit they were handy in a pinch. Unfortunately, one of the biggest benefits was also one of the biggest problems - being unable to feel pain meant being unable to tell when a wound reopened or a hairline fracture became a more serious injury.

The other thing was...Armitage hadn't taken any stims.

"You'll need to be able to shoot," he said calmly, matter of fact. The last thing he needed was for Armitage to think he was reprimanding him or, worse, telling him what to do.

"I have two hands, in case you haven't noticed," he replied. CD-0922 allowed himself a small smile behind the comfort of his visor. Maybe Armitage thought he'd take down projections of insurgents with his _words._ Still, he couldn't say the kid wasn't making an effort. Perhaps he was growing up a bit after all.

* * *

Armitage ought to have felt triumphant as he left the simulation room, but he didn't feel much of anything, save for the pain in his fingers. He'd barely been able to keep his blaster upright in his non-dominant hand, which he supposed had been the _point._ He'd had to find another way to pass the test, and he had, though CD-0922's presence had made it difficult to concentrate, especially when he'd _touched_ him.

He wasn't really sure why that had bothered him as much as it had (it wasn't as if he'd _hurt_ him), or why he kept getting so distracted. It happened in the mess hall sometimes, too. Initially, he'd assumed it was because CD-0922 had begun to shave his head and it made his face look different, but that had been a while ago and nothing else had changed. Until then, Armitage had felt more comfortable with him than with the other troopers from Jakku, but recently he'd found himself growing clumsier and more flustered around CD-0922.

In any case, he'd passed, and his options were to go to the medbay, the mess hall, or his personal quarters. He opted for the latter. He could use a nice, cool shower after all that exercise, and Armitage hated dirt and sweat and not feeling _clean._ His father was always reiterating the importance of appearances, yet gave him a uniform that didn't fit properly and looked sloppy. So Armitage always made sure he was at least clean. His shower gel didn't smell of anything in particular, so if he was quiet enough, and didn't take up too much space, his presence often went unnoticed. When he was younger, he'd clung to the belief that he could actually turn invisible, because he'd been a foolish child with foolish fantasies. At thirteen, those days were far, far behind him, but there were still times when he could find comfort in the pretense.

As he slid into bed, he envied the bat-like species he'd read about, called the Chadra-Fan, who needed only three hours of sleep per cycle to wake up feeling refreshed. It didn't seem to matter how long he slept, when he woke up to another day just like the last, his body aching. _Growing pains,_ his father called them, though he struggled to see what a cane across the buttocks had to do with _growing._ But it wouldn't be long before he was as tall as his father, and maybe then he'd start treating Armitage more like a man and less like a...well, not even a child, really.

There was a chance that, too, was just another foolish fantasy.

It was hard to go to sleep when he was so keenly aware of the pain in his bruised and broken fingers. CD-0922 taping them together had helped, but it was nearly impossible not to move them at all. That was the _point,_ he supposed - he'd spilled Brooks' water that morning because he'd been fidgeting. He couldn't help it when he was nervous, and Brooks made him nervous (marginally less so than his father, but that was hardly a comfort when they came, more or less, as a pair).

Armitage wasn't sure what time it was when his father's droid entered his quarters, her shiny black photoreceptors gleaming in the dark. He couldn't make out her matte-black frame, but he always recognised DDM-38's soft, soothing movements as she tended his injuries in the dead of the night, while his father was in his cups. Perhaps his father had been pleased with CD-0922's report on their training session, or perhaps it was DeeDee's own decision to be here. Armitage never cared to ask when morning came. He just felt himself drifting back to sleep when the needle pierced his skin, telling himself that tomorrow he'd do better.


End file.
